


to win this fight, side by side

by poisedwalrus



Series: not only plan but also believe [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Fix-It, Gen, Mood Whiplash, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, depending on your definition of better, depending on your definition of dying, deus ex deadpool, deus ex peter tingle, except for thanos's children sorry thanos's children, it's infinity war but everyone works together so things turn out marginally better, kind of, the musical of this fic is spies are forever but spies are forever is not actually mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 16:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisedwalrus/pseuds/poisedwalrus
Summary: "Get in, losers," Deadpool yells. "We're going titan-killing!"Peter plans his first intergalactic assassination. He's not exactly happy about it.(Set after "hungry for a poke")





	1. it's time to do or die

**Author's Note:**

> HOW DO YOU WRITE ENSEMBLE FICS. EVERYTHING IS CONFUSING AND EVERYONE ONLY GETS ONE LINE AND EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN THE SPAN OF LIKE TWO HOURS.
> 
> What even is Infinity War. My head hurts.

The morning of his field trip to MoMA, Peter gets a text from Mr. Rand that says,  _ phone tree message pass it on! meet at that big churchy building on bleecker st asap!!!! _ 🕷🕷🕷  _ ;) ;) ;) _

Mr. Rand is possibly the least subtle person Peter knows. 

And Peter once accidentally revealed his secret identity to his crime-fighting friends by inviting them to a wedding where he didn’t wear his mask, so. His standards for subtlety aren’t very high.

Anyway, Mr. Rand may not be subtle, but he does take Peter’s vigilante-work-normal-life balance very seriously. Peter suspects that Mr. Stark recently gave all the people on the superhero phone tree a talk about taking Peter’s work-life balance very seriously. For the last month, Mr. Stark’s practically held a monopoly on picking Peter up from school.

And the superhero phone tree is only supposed to be activated when someone has bumped into an all-hands-on-deck-worthy situation. So far, these situations have ranged from surprise birthday parties to pranks to interventions to friend therapy. Peter has been mostly in charge of the friend therapy. But, everyone knows not to contact him with the phone tree during school hours. They learned that lesson after the macaroni fire incident. 

Mr. Rand is texting him at 7:03 AM. Either someone is in desperate need of an emotionally literate superhero, or something serious is going on. 

Doesn’t matter. Peter’s in.

So, Peter speedwalks to his locker and exchanges his physics book for two packs of gummy worms while regretfully informing Ned that he might have to ditch him, since he has to go check on— a thing. An urgent thing that may or may not be urgent. Peter can’t really tell.

“Is it—“ Ned leans in and lowers his voice “— Spider-Man stuff?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, slamming his locker closed. “So if I’m not back before the buses leave, tell them I’m sick, okay? Just say it’s stomach flu, nothing— embarrassing.”

Ned nods repeatedly and says, “Okay, yeah, I gotchu. Go do your thing.”

“Thanks, man!”

Peter swings his backpack over one shoulder, dodges the hall monitor, and waves.

Two minutes later, Spider-Man is in the city.

And he only gets sidetracked twice by tourists asking for directions before he reaches that churchy place on Bleecker Street. It’s a new record.

Peter knocks on the door twice, feeling a little bit like he’s trying to break into a secret club. A secret superhero club. Maybe they should come up with a special knock, so nobody has to slowly creak the door open while scanning the street for potential risks. It looks obviously suspicious.

Once Mr. Rand is done looking obviously suspicious, he swings the door wide open and beams.

“Hey, glad you could make it!” he says, ushering Peter in.

It’s a full house. Mr. Stark is near a huge staircase at the back of the room, chatting to three guys Peter can’t recognize by the backs of their heads. One of them is wearing an awesome red cape though. Captain America is hanging out with Mr. Bucky and Mr. Wilson to the side, and Daredevil is standing with Black Widow, Miss Jones, and Mr. Cage. It’s like the superhero reunion party from fourteen-year-old Peter’s wildest fantasies.

And he gets to be a part of it. Peter hopes his mask hides how big and uncool his grin is. 

Of course, that’s when he hears— “What the fuck. Who invited Spider-Man?”

Miss Jones is stalking over, brow furrowed. 

Offended, Peter says, “Hey, don’t be an arachnophobe!” while Mr. Rand simultaneously raises his right hand and answers, “I did— He’s the guy after me on the superhero phone tree.”

Miss Jones smacks Mr. Rand on the back of the head, and he yelps.

“What?” he says, as Miss Jones grabs his upper arm and drags him towards the rest of the Defenders. “That’s how phone trees work!”

Peter scampers after them, asking, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about,” Daredevil says.

“I’m pretty sure that’s adult-speak for something I should be concerned about,” Peter says.

“Aren’t you missing school right now?” Mr. Cage asks.

“It’s a field trip day— I’m missing squat. Come on, guys, someone activated the superhero phone tree! And it doesn’t look like you’re planning another surprise birthday party for Hawkeye’s kids. What’s up?”

Daredevil frowns, Miss Jones crosses her arms, and Mr. Cage glances towards the staircase. Mr. Rand opens his mouth, but before he can speak—

“Nope, no, nuh-uh,” Mr. Stark muscles his way through the group until he’s standing in front of Peter. “I thought I was hallucinating the red, but I guess not. Kid, what’re you doing here?”

“I got the text about—“

“Did no one read my phone tree instructions? You guys must’ve been the worst at telephone— “ Mr. Stark places both hands on Peter’s shoulders to spin him around and corral him towards the door. “—Anyway, false alarm, so back to MoMA with you—“

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on, Mr. Stark.” Peter plants his feet with all his spider strength. “This obviously isn’t a false alarm— I can read the air, you know— and if there’s really a situation happening, then I can help!”

“I know,” Mr. Stark says, “but this isn’t really a friendly neighborhood situation. So, what you can do right now is go back to your field trip.” He presses his shin into Peter’s right calf like he’s actually gonna soccer kick Peter out of this meeting. “There’s a reason why you’re the last person on the superhero phone tree,” he adds.

Wow. Okay.

Mr. Stark tries to resume herding Peter towards the door, but Peter spins around, attempts to assume a power pose, and jams his index finger into the nanoparticle housing unit on Mr. Stark’s chest. As he hisses and goes to shake his hand out, Mr. Stark grabs his finger and massages the joints in apology.

Peter only accepts ninety-five percent of this apology. After a couple of seconds, he says thanks, snatches his hand back and points at Mr. Stark’s chest from a safe distance away from the housing unit.

“First of all,” Peter says, “rude. Second, I’m not the last person on the superhero phone tree.”

Mr. Stark crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

“Then wh—“

“Oh my gawd!” Deadpool says in a high-pitched voice. “Are we finally having that big family potluck?! Who forgot the plates? Was it you, darling?” He cozies up to Daredevil, who doesn’t look at him but does lean away. “You never remember to look around before you leave the house!”

“What the f— “ Mr. Stark whirls around, then turns back to glare at Peter. “You texted Deadpool?!”

“He’s after me on the superhero phone tree.” Peter walks back to where everyone has instinctively gathered around Deadpool, half in grotesque fascination, half so that they can subtly aim their weapons-of-choice in his direction. 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Stark says, following Peter. “I believe I just heard you say ‘superhero phone tree,’ and that—“ Mr. Stark points at Deadpool, who is now making kissy sounds in Captain America’s direction. “— is not a superhero.”

As Mr. Bucky steps in front of Captain America, looking three times more murderous than usual, Deadpool gasps dramatically, turns to Mr. Stark, and says, “How very dare you, good sir? I am the epitome of super— I bet you one million billion dollars that you will never find another incredibly intelligent, instantaneously healing, functionally immortal killer-for-hire—“

“Ex-killer-for-hire,“ Peter reminds him.

“— ex-killer-for-hire—“

Mr. Stark says, “I still don’t hear anything particularly heroic—“

“Actually,” a new voice interrupts, “I’d feel a lot better if we had an immortal ex-killer-for-hire on our side, considering what we’re facing.”

Finally. A voice of reason.

Peter glances towards the source of this voice. Then he does a double take.

“Holy shit! Is that Bruce Banner?!”

Dr. Banner gives him a small wave. Peter resists the urge to swoon.

“And you are…?” Dr. Banner says, but Peter’s too busy tugging at the sleeve of Mr. Stark’s jacket and quietly saying, “Oh my God, Mr. Stark, it’s Dr. Bruce Banner” over and over again to respond.

Deadpool has moved on to nuzzling a man with a buzzcut, asking if  _ he _ believes that Deadpool is a legit superhero. Buzzcut man looks very unamused. He shoots a look at Red-Cape Man.

“Yes, well,” Red-Cape Man presses his palm into his forehead. “I suppose we should start with introductions.”

——

“Okay,” Daredevil says dryly. “So there’s an alien who’s traveling the galaxy, collecting rocks. And you all— “ He lifts his chin, gesturing at the more Avenger-y half of the room. “have managed to acquire some of these rocks. Which means that the alien is going to attack Earth. For two rocks.”

Mr. Wilson snorts.

“They’re very powerful rocks,” Dr. Banner says sheepishly.

“Incredibly powerful,” Red-Cape Man— aka Dr. Strange the  _ actual real-life wizard _ — adds. His buzzcut-adorned wizard friend Wong nods solemnly in agreement.

Captain America taps Mr. Stark’s shoulder and asks him something quietly. Peter tries not to eavesdrop. It’s easy, since he’s currently listening to a breakdown of an ancient alien’s murder-y Pokémon journey across the galaxy.

“And you wear one of these rocks around your neck in one of the most populated cities in America?” Daredevil says. “You seem perfectly fine with making yourself— and New York by extension— a target for a mass-murdering alien.”

Dr. Strange says stiffly, “I am the guardian of the Time Stone. It is safest with me.”

“I don’t see a problem with booting you off the planet,” Miss Jones says. 

Black Widow’s lips twitch.

Mr. Cage pulls all the Defenders to the side, where they immediately start a whisper-shouted argument.

“Um— “ Peter raises his hand, “Probably a dumb question, but— Can’t we just give the rocks to the alien so he doesn’t try to kill us all?”

Dr. Strange says, “You’re right; that is a dumb question—“

“Well, no,” Dr. Banner interjects, “you see, Thanos—“

“Ooh! Ooh! I know this one, teach!” Deadpool waves his arm wildly in the air. “He wants to offer our corpses to his girlfriend in a bloody, decaying bouquet! No, wait—” Deadpool continues as Dr. Banner opens his mouth. “— he has a fetish for collecting orphans and training them into little child soldiers, so he needs to murk us to maintain the population of vulnerable children! No, wait—“

Red fabric whips across the room and wraps around Deadpool’s entire head before he can continue talking.

“Please shut up,” Dr. Strange says. He’s gritting his teeth. “This is not the time for inappropriate touching or bad jokes or whatever it is that you do—“

Dr. Banner tries, “Guys, if Thanos gets all the stones—“

Muffled by the cloak, Deadpool says, “Actually, murdering people is the thing that I do— “

“You mean it’s the ex-thing you do,” Peter reminds him.

“— Right, the ex-thing I do— “

“He’s going to wipe out half the universe!” Dr. Banner says loudly.

Peter stills. 

What the fuck?

“He already massacred the Asgardians,” Dr. Banner adds.

Everyone goes quiet.

Dr. Banner takes a deep, shuddering breath. Black Widow materializes at his side and places a hand on his shoulder.

He glances at her, and she looks back steadily. Then he takes another breath.

“Thanos is obsessed with balance and stability,” Dr. Banner explains. “He wants to use the Infinity Stones to wipe out half the universe and fix overpopulation. But he needs all six stones to do that. So, we can’t let him get all the stones, or else half the universe dies.”

A long pause.

Peter thinks this over, because it sounds too dumb to be real. Which means it’s just dumb enough to be feasible.

Really? What the fuck.

Worst Pokémon game ever.

“Don’t aliens take classes on ecological sustainability?” Peter quips weakly. 

Deadpool untangles Dr. Strange’s cloak from around his head, uncharacteristically silent. Mr. Cage and Miss Jones exchange glances, and the Defenders migrate back to the group.

Peter swallows. He wraps his arms around his stomach and squeezes his sides. This is definitely not a friendly neighborhood situation.

“Okay, easy,” Mr. Stark says, rejoining the conversation with the captain at his side. He hands Peter a pack of gummy worms he must have pilfered from his backpack. “Here’s a plan. You got a stone— “ Mr. Stark points at Dr. Strange. “— We stick it down a garbage disposal, and boom! Thanos can’t get a full set of rocks, so he can’t kill half of everyone. Universe saved.”

Peter thinks it’s a good plan. Dr. Strange’s face disagrees.

“I don’t know if you heard,” he says, in a way that implies that he’s doubting Mr. Stark’s mental capacity more than his hearing. “But I am the guardian of the Time Stone. I cannot let it come to harm.”

“So, you’d rather let half the universe die?” Peter says defensively. He doesn’t appreciate Dr. Strange’s tone. The only person legally allowed to doubt Mr. Stark’s mental capacity is Mrs. Potts.

“The Time Stone isn’t the only Infinity Stone on Earth,” Dr. Strange stares at Mr. Stark. “I don’t see why mine should be destroyed when the Avengers possess another.”

Captain America steps forward. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Bucky move to flank him.

“We don’t trade lives,” the captain says.

Dr. Strange’s eyes narrow, but Daredevil interrupts before he can open his mouth.

“I think you’re both forgetting something important,” Daredevil says. “Even if you destroy one or both stones, Thanos won’t necessarily dismiss Earth as a target or give up on this genocide. He doesn’t sound very reasonable or rational. On one hand, he may not know that the stones are destroyed, and then he’ll come to Earth anyway. On the other hand, he may find out that the stones are destroyed, and then he’ll come seeking retribution, or he’ll decide to perform his genocide manually— planet by planet, with Earth first on the list.”

“Okay, then we’ll take the fight to him,” Mr. Stark says breezily. “Who wants to go to space and kill a genocidal alien— Put your hand down, kid. You don’t even have a passport.”

“That didn’t matter when you took me to Germany—“

“Nope, not the time— We can discuss this later, when I’m not planning an intergalactic assassination and trying to wrestle a wizard’s favorite necklace away from him.”

“I didn’t know Stark Industries was building rocket ships,” Dr. Strange says. His cloak is floating around him menacingly, and his hands are hovering around his golden pendant.

Mr. Stark immediately moves in front of Peter, getting all up in Dr. Strange’s face.

He says, “Well, I thought the teleporting wizards would be on our side, but maybe I was mistaken.”

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme. Not a wizard.”

“Potato, tomato, Gandalf.”

And then pretty much everyone starts yelling.

Mr. Stark has his hand hovering over the housing unit, talking loudly at Dr. Strange about destroying the Infinity Stones. Dr. Strange is shaking his head and talking back, with Wong interjecting at points, before Mr. Wilson hears something he doesn’t like, and then they’re arguing, too. Dr. Banner steps towards them, brow crinkled, but Black Widow places a hand on his chest and pushes him back, engaging him in a conversation that involves a lot of facial expressions Peter’s never seen her wear before. Captain America is trying to speak over both Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange, while Mr. Bucky stands behind him as his very intimidating moral support. Daredevil inserts himself between all four of them, saying something sharp that makes both Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange turn on him, which makes Mr. Rand step forward, yelling, which makes Mr. Cage follow, arms folded, speaking loudly and sternly, like a substitute teacher waiting for a class of second graders to calm down. Deadpool strolls over, takes Peter’s gummy worms, rips the bag open, and stuffs two into his mouth.

“Concessions?” he says, offering Peter the pack.

Peter’s still busy staring at all his childhood heroes, who’re screaming at each other like they’re on reality TV. 

“Oh my God,” he whispers. “We’re all gonna die.”

Deadpool shrugs.

Then Peter spots Miss Jones walking towards the door.

“Miss Jones!” he calls, jogging after her. “Wait, please— Where are you going?” He reaches out to grab her arm, thinks better of it, then scrambles in front of her, blocking the door.

Miss Jones raises an eyebrow. Peter tries to ignore the feeling that his ass is about to get beat.

“Please don’t leave,” he says. “We don’t even have a plan yet.”

Miss Jones darts her eyes back to the group and then raises both eyebrows, as if to say, “You think you’ll ever get a plan with all this shit going on?”

Which Peter will admit is a valid point. But still.

Daredevil walks over, too, having apparently extracted himself from the group argument. “Spider-Man has a point, Jessica,” he says. “You’ll probably want to stay a little longer.”

“I don’t fuck with aliens or universe-destroying-level shit,” Miss Jones says, nudging Peter aside with one shoulder. “Not my thing. If it lands in my neighborhood, then I’ll deal with it.”

“Well,” Daredevil says, cocking his head. “Then you may have to deal with it in about three minutes.”

Miss Jones narrows her eyes. She abruptly changes directions and heads towards one of the windows instead.

“What’s going on?” Peter says, peeking out the window from over her shoulder. He squints, focusing his vision.

And then he sees it.

“Holy shit!”

Peter runs back to the superhero reenactment of  _ Keeping Up With the Kardashians _ .

“Guys, guys, guys, Mr. Stark!” Peter yells, latching onto Mr. Stark’s sleeve and dragging him towards the window.

He points and says, “The aliens are coming!”

——

“Okay, okay, okay, we need a plan, like, now!” Peter says.

Dr. Strange is walking towards the door. Peter rushes after him, grabbing his cloak, which grabs onto Dr. Strange’s shoulders, causing him to lurch backwards awkwardly.

“Hey!” Peter says. “Where’re you going?”

“Thanos is here for the Time Stone,” Dr. Strange says calmly. “So, I will go confront him.”

“Um, okay,” Peter says. “Except no, because that’s dumb. Why would you fight a murderer who wants your necklace while wearing your necklace?”

Dr. Strange shoots Peter a look and continues walking. 

Peter steps on the cloak.

The doctor trips.

Then Peter reaches up, grabs Dr. Strange’s shoulders, and forces him to turn around.

“Look! You’re in a room filled with a dozen superheroes!” Peter says. “There’s a better way to keep your rock safe and fight the alien! Like, have you ever heard of teamwork? Have you ever seen any sports movie from, like, the beginning of time? You can’t win alone! And if you think I’m gonna let some— some loser fight a genocidal alien on my streets, where my people are, then— then you obviously don’t know anything about Spider-Man!” Peter suddenly realizes that he’s shaking Dr. Strange kinda violently. The doctor’s staring at him with wide eyes. 

Whoops.

Peter lets go and takes a step back.

Then he takes a deep breath, holds for one second, and apologizes on the exhale. But he doesn’t get off Dr. Strange’s cloak.

“…I don’t actually know much about Spider-Man,” Dr. Strange says. “But if you wish to come up with a plan of attack in the next two minutes before Thanos arrives, I will hear you out.” He folds his arms over his necklace and stares at Peter expectantly.

Okay. No pressure then.

Peter steps off Dr. Strange’s cloak and begins to pace.

“Uh, uh— Okay, uh— Everyone shut up and let me think!” Peter says. “Deadpool— stop chewing so loudly. I— Okay, um, uh—”

“Kid, not that I mind you tracking footprints onto the wizards’ clean ceiling, but could you do your thinking on our level?“ 

“Shh, Mr. Stark, you’ll scare all my plans away— No, wait, wait— I think I got something!” 

Peter backflips off the ceiling and lands back in front of Dr. Strange.

“Can you make shadow clones of yourself?” he asks.

“Uh— I can make illusory copies of myself, yes,” the doctor replies.

“Okay, then have you guys ever seen the seventh  _ Harry Potter  _ film? Remember that part in the beginning where they have to smuggle Harry out of the Dursleys’s house?”

Peter pairs Daredevil with Miss Jones, Mr. Cage with Mr. Rand, Captain America with Mr. Bucky, Black Widow with Mr. Falcon, and Deadpool with himself. 

“Our job will be to keep Thanos away from the real Dr. Strange while we move him to a safe place,” Peter says. “We all need to head out of the city; there’re too many people here to safely fight an alien mass murderer.”

“And where exactly is this ‘safe place’?” Dr. Strange asks.

“Well,” Peter turns to Mr. Stark. “I was hoping we could use your lab at the compound. Do you think you, Dr. Banner, and Dr. Strange could work out a way to destroy one of the rocks?”

But, before Mr. Stark can answer, Dr. Strange interjects, “Again, I am sworn to protect the Time Stone. Frankly,” he adds, “I would let all of you die before I relinquished it to destruction.”

Wow. 

“Uh, okay,” Peter says. “That’s a— really asshole-ish thing to say, but fine. We’ll nix that plan for now.” Peter knows better than to alienate an actual freaking wizard, holy cow.

“Anyway, then— If you want us to not destroy the Time Stone, Dr. Strange, then you should be even more motivated to go with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner and figure out how to— I don’t know— hide the stones or neutralize them or something that doesn’t involve destroying your necklace or killing Mr. Vision!”

“Actually,” Dr. Banner says, “I think we may be able to destroy the Mind Stone without sacrificing Vision. Vision is made up of more than just the stone— If we could just remove it, we would be able to destroy it without destroying him. But,” he finishes sheepishly, “I don’t think I’d be able to do the extraction myself.”

Dr. Banner glances at Mr. Stark, who doesn’t nod or shake his head. He looks like he’s thinking.

Peter holds his breath.

After a moment, Mr. Stark sighs and says, “The compound doesn’t have the necessary equipment,” and Peter deflates. He’s starting to formulate another plan that involves some sort of epically enhanced witness protection in Florida when— 

“Wait,” Captain America says. “If you need a safe place with high tech equipment, I know somewhere that might work.”

“And,” Mr. Bucky adds. “I know a gal who might be able to do the extraction.”

——

So here’s how Peter’s plan goes: While he, Deadpool, the Defenders, Captain America, and Black Widow lead Thanos on a wild goose chase out of the city, Wong and Mr. Wilson will portal— which is so cool— to Scotland, pick up Scarlet Witch and Mr. Vision, and then meet with Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, Mr. Bucky, and Dr. Strange in Wakanda, where the princess— an actual real-life princess— will help them remove and destroy the Mind Stone while keeping Vision alive. Once that’s done, everyone will teleport— still totally awesome, by the way— back to New York, and beat Thanos to a pulp using the power of teamwork. Squared!

It’s definitely Peter’s coolest plan ever.

Now all Peter has to do is get Mr. Stark to agree to it.

“You are not fighting a murderous alien with an insane mercenary and a wizard hologram.”

“I think the Dr. Strange clones are more like independent, semi-colloidal golems, actually.”

At least that’s what Peter managed to determine, before Mr. Stark pulled him away from where everyone is strapping on weapons or comparing travel routes or magicking up glowing gold portals— so cool— to start executing Peter’s Rock-Smashing Alien Murder plan. Peter is kinda uncomfortable with the murder part, but when it’s murder or let half the universe be murdered, Peter will let Karen activate Instant Kill. He has these powers, so he should use them to protect his people. 

Too bad Mr. Stark is too much of a helicopter superhero mentor to understand that.

“Nope— I will not hear any more snark out of you. Go home, Spider-Man.” Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s waist and tries to heave him over one shoulder, presumably so he can literally toss Peter out the door.

“It’s my plan!” Peter says, sticking his hands to the wall Mr. Stark cornered him against. “I have to do this!”

“Don’t make me blast this wall apart, Pete.” Mr. Stark is pulling so hard that Peter’s practically horizontal now. Why does Mr. Stark have muscles? Peter wants to file a complaint. Iron Man should not have the core strength to bench press spider-enhanced teenagers out of the suit. “I do not want to deal with wizarding property damage.”

“Then stop trying to make me leave!” 

“Not that I don’t love watching a live re-enactment of ‘Kid Refuses to Leave Chuck-E-Cheese,’” Mr. Wilson says, “but we’re gonna grab Vision and Wanda now. Good luck.” He nods to the room in general before he and Wong vanish into an actual glowing magic circle.

“Awesome,” Peter whispers. Mr. Stark lets go of his hips, having come to the obvious conclusion that Peter will not be bodily removed from this future murder scene.

As Peter unsticks himself from the wall, Mr. Stark steps forward until Peter can’t see anything but his face.

He looks angry.

“Kid,” he grits out, “this is not the time for your teenage rebellion.”

Peter actually thinks that moments before a crazy alien invades to kill you and steal your rocks is the perfect time for a teenage rebellion, especially if you’re a superpowered teenager with spider-enhanced combat skills and a huge guilt complex. But, he feels like Mr. Stark wouldn’t appreciate this line of reasoning.

So, instead, Peter says, “It’s my job to fight.”

“No, it isn’t,” Mr. Stark replies. “It’s your job to keep yourself and your people safe.”

“Yeah, so I have to fight!”

“Go home, Peter,” Mr. Stark exhales sharply and rubs his temple. “I can’t— I can’t do this right now.”

And, to be perfectly honest, Peter would love to go home. Aliens and wizards and stuff— It’s so awesome, so cool. But, Peter would trade all this excitement for the ability to swing to MoMA and meet up with Ned and say, “Yeah, false alarm. Just another birthday party to bake for.” Peter wants to be bored by modern art and use that wasted day of learning to con Mr. Stark into letting him have more science time at the lab. He wants to go home and eat takeout with May and not make plans to keep half the universe from being wiped out.

But, he can’t do that. There’s a crazy mass-murdering alien about to descend upon his city, and he has the power to fight it. How could he ever go home?

Mr. Stark knows this. This is one of the first things he learned about Peter, almost a year ago in Peter’s old bedroom. Why is he still arguing with Peter now?

Peter searches Mr. Stark’s face, noting the returning stress lines, the downturned lips. Somehow, he looks so much older than he did at his wedding.

And then Peter gets it.

“You don’t trust me,” he says, heart sinking.

Mr. Stark looks at Peter, eyes wide.

“No! That’s not— I trust you, Pete,” Mr. Stark lays a hand on his shoulder, grips it, shakes him gently. “I trust you, Spider-Man. It’s just— Fuck—“

Mr. Stark presses his lips together, glancing back towards the staircase, where Captain America is talking quietly to Mr. Bucky. Dr. Strange is moving his hand in little circles, and the portal to Wakanda is rippling into existence.

They’re almost out of time.

“Okay, look, kid—“ Mr. Stark turns back to Peter. “Pepper is— Pepper’s pregnant—“

“Wha—“ Peter’s heard so much crazy news today. His brain is gonna explode. “Oh my god, Mr. Stark! Congratulations!”

“—Yeah, so I’m starting to contract all these irrational papa-bear instincts now— the hormones, you know—“ Mr. Stark waves generally at his own forehead. “—and so I’d feel a lot better going into this time-sensitive engineering project and intergalactic assassination if I knew that my other ki— kind of child figure was safe at home, being one of those reasons why I have to save the world and make it back safely. And really—“ Mr. Stark spins around, throwing one arm around Peter’s shoulders and gesturing at the array of super crime fighters and wizards in the room with the other. “— The world-saving party is full, even without any spider-y assistance. So, what do you say, Pete? Ready to grab May and hunker down at the lake house with Pepper? You gonna help me keep all my spiritual and moral anchors away from any genocidal aliens?”

Mr. Stark taps a drumbeat out on Peter’s shoulders, glances down at him, smiles. He’s probably trying to be reassuring, but there’s something desperate in his face. 

“The UFO’s almost here,” Mr. Rand says nervously. Outside, people are starting to scream.

It’s time.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says carefully. “I know what you’re trying to say, and— and I get it. I really do. But, I think you know me well enough by now to know that I’m gonna fight this fight. I have these powers, and I— I gotta keep my neighborhood safe. So, if— if you try to send me away, then I’ll just fuck with my suit and come back and fight anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna protect my city.”

I’m gonna protect you, Peter doesn’t say.

“Tony, we have to go now!” Dr. Banner calls. Only his head is sticking out of the portal. Everyone else has already gone through.

Mr. Stark is staring at Peter, smile gone.

For a moment, he looks at Peter like he’s never seen him before.

Slowly, Mr. Stark turns to Dr. Banner. Then he says, “Change of plans. I’m joining the Order of the Phoenix. Say hello to King T’Challa for me, Bruce.”

“Tony—“

“Mr. Stark?”

“Can’t have too many cooks in the kitchen,” Mr. Stark shrugs. “I’m sure the princess will figure it out much faster with one less old man to get in her way.”

Dr. Banner’s forehead is wrinkled. “I’m not sure—“

“Go, Bruce,” Mr. Stark says, walking over to the portal, “before the wizard runs out of battery. You guys can do it.” Then he says something quiet that Peter can’t catch. 

Dr. Banner’s eyes widen, then he nods. “We’ll take care of it,” he says, and he ducks back through the portal, and then the portal is gone.

“Well,” Mr. Stark says, “You heard the man. Now let’s go do our thing.”

Captain America nods.

“Everyone take a Dr. Strange and move out!”

Mr. Rand waves at Peter, and Mr. Cage nods as they drag their Dr. Strange clone out of the building. Black Widow tosses Mr. Stark a little earpiece, before following Captain America to the door. Daredevil and Miss Jones are long gone. Peter doesn’t even know when they left. 

“You’re with me, kid,” Mr. Stark says, leading a Dr. Strange clone back to where Peter’s standing. He hands Peter his backpack and says, “I don’t think the wizards will keep your homework safe for you.”

Actually, Peter‘s plan had involved making the wizards keep Mr. Stark safe for him. But, Mr. Stark’s talent for improvisation never fails to throw Peter’s plans off course.

Now, Mr. Stark’s at the front line of this battle. Right where Peter didn’t want him to be.

Peter takes his backpack and swings it on.

“Ready?” Mr. Stark says.

No. Really, really no. 

The only thing Peter is ready for is a nice, long nap on the movie night couch at the Avengers Compound. This? This is fucking insane. Genocidal aliens are way above Spider-Man’s pay grade. Well, they would be, if Spider-Man was getting paid.

But, Peter has to keep his city safe. May is here. Ned and MJ are here. Everyone from school, everyone who helps Spider-Man, and everyone whom Spider-Man has helped— They’re all here. And they’re all in danger.

And now, Peter has to keep Mr. Stark safe, too. He’s gonna be a dad! Peter almost can’t imagine it, except for how he can, in vivid technicolor. He sees Iron Man onesies and booties, Miss Potts tired but glowing, Mr. Stark seesawing between totally freaked out and obsessively prepared. He wonders if they’ll have a baby shower. Will they let Peter plan it?

Peter pictures Mr. Stark building super-spy-level baby monitors and bears with cameras in their eyes. He’ll make a crib that’s more decked out than the Iron Man suit. The stroller will come with bulletproof shielding and four hundred protection protocols. He won’t let Peter babysit until Peter aces a childcare course of his choosing.

Mr. Stark is gonna be the most helicopter-y parent who ever helicopter parented. That baby will be so smothered. So loved.

Peter takes a deep breath.

“I’m ready,” he says. 

They walk towards the door. Mr. Stark taps the housing unit, and the Iron Man suit swirls out and around him as he moves. It’s awesome. Peter says so, and Mr. Stark smiles.

Under the mask, Peter smiles back. 

He’s nervous. But, he won’t let Mr. Stark die. For Mrs. Potts and their baby— and for the world. Earth needs Tony Stark.

Peter will make sure that Earth has him.

“Uh, excuse me? Aren’t you forgetting about someone?”

Oh, right. Peter turns his head, but before he can say anything—

“No!” Mr. Stark spins around, pointing at Deadpool, who immediately raises his hands. “No, you— Stay back. You’re not a part of this.”

“Aw, come on, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “He can help.”

“Or he’ll just be a distraction and an obstacle.” Mr. Stark says, placing a hand on top of Peter’s head and turning him back towards the door. “I’m not letting an insane mercenary have my back.”

“He won’t have your back,” Peter points out. “I’ll have your back. And he’ll have my back.”

“No,” Mr. Stark says.

“Please?” Peter says. He tries for puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t know how well they work behind the Spider-Man mask.

Suddenly, the floor quakes, and there’s a sound like an entire concrete warehouse collapsing. Outside the window, people are sprinting down the street.

Deadpool screams, “Nobody puts baby in a corner!”

“Okay, no time,” Mr. Stark says, tugging Peter out the door. “Let’s go.” 

“Come on!” Peter waves Deadpool forward.

Mr. Stark activates the Iron Man mask, and together, they step onto Bleecker Street.

Behind them, Deadpool cheers, “Threesome!”

Mr. Stark turns his head, so the Iron Man mask is giving Peter a look. The look says that Peter is definitely gonna pay for this later.

Well, shit. If they all survive this semi-universal genocide, Peter is so dead.


	2. the will of a man

It’s not him.

“What do you mean, none of ‘em are Thanos?” Peter yells, as he narrowly avoids being decapitated by a street sign that the Voldemort-Squidward alien threw at him with his alien telekinesis. Peter’s life is insane.

“I meant exactly that,” Black Widow says. She backflips out of the way of a swinging telephone pole and lands in a crouch, shooting two bullets at Voldemort-Squidward with a handgun she pulled out of nowhere.

“Then who’re they?” Peter says, catching Mr. Stark with a web before he gets flung into the Defenders’ fight with Alien-Hulk-Who-Wears-Clothes. Then Peter immediately has to duck, so that the bullets Voldemort-Squidward deflected towards him pierce through Dr. Strange’s windows instead of Peter’s brain. He hopes that Dr. Strange isn’t sworn to protect his windows, too.

“Thanos’s children,” Black Widow says. “Can you give me a boost?”

She grabs onto Peter’s neck, and he swings them both back towards Voldemort-Squidward.

“How do you know?” Peter asks.

“They introduced themselves before attacking.” Black Widow lets go of Peter and lands a kick on Voldemort-Squidward’s head, just as Captain America socks him in the ankle. There’s a loud crack.

Oh. Well, Peter can respect enemies who take the time to introduce themselves. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean he goes easy on them. Not that Thanos’s kids need him to go easy.

They reinforce this point with several minutes of kicking his ass.

“Okay, new plan,” Peter wheezes, as Voldemort-Squidward force-chokes him while dodging Mr. Stark’s ever-increasing repulsor blasts. “Screw this. Let’s do the intergalactic assassination thing. In space.”

“A little busy right now!” Captain America says. He hurls his shield at Voldemort-Squidward like a deadly frisbee. In response, Voldemort-Squidward throws him through another one of Dr. Strange’s windows.

“I don’t actually have a rocket ship, kid,” Mr. Stark says, after using Captain America’s defenestration as a distraction to scoop Peter out of Voldemort-Squidward’s force-choking range. Voldemort-Squidward smashes both of them to the ground with a rogue telephone pole before Peter can respond.

Peter rolls, trying not to cough up his breakfast. He ends up at the feet of one of the Dr. Strange clones, who aren’t doing anything but dodging and ducking behind the actual combatants. Peter doesn’t know how much autonomy they have, but they’ve contributed none-ty percent to the battle so far.

“Can’t you do something?” he snaps at the clone looming over him. 

The clone stares at Peter blankly. Then he slowly raises his hands and starts moving them in circles. 

Peter stumbles to his feet just in time to see a sparkly yellow portal appear right in front of Voldemort-Squidward as he’s lunging forward to force-choke Black Widow. 

Voldemort-Squidward’s head goes through the portal.

The portal closes.

“Uh,” Peter blinks. He resists the urge to gag. “Thanks.”

The clone does not respond.

“Well,” Mr. Stark says, landing next to Peter. “That could’ve saved us a lot of trouble ten minutes ago.”

Black Widow kicks Voldemort-Squidward’s headless corpse away.

Captain America runs up, saying, “Alright, that worked. Now let’s go give the Defenders an assist.”

And then they do.

“That’s kinda gross,” Mr. Rand says, nudging Alien-Hulk-Who-Wears-Clothes’s dismembered torso.

“Yeah,” Peter says, staring hard at his own feet and nowhere else. “Guess it was overkill to get all four Dr. Strange clones to do something.”

“I mean, if you got it, flaunt it,” Mr. Stark says, turning Peter around so he’s facing the donut spaceship instead of the dead body. “So, who’s up for some intergalactic assassination?”

——

The Defenders opt to stay behind and guard New York, just in case Thanos sends more of his kids to Earth. 

This is not a unanimous decision. 

Both Daredevil and Miss Jones spend three minutes threatening Mr. Rand with increasing levels of violence before he capitulates under Mr. Cage’s disapproving gaze. Peter mouths the words “mom friend” to Mr. Cage, who summarily turns his disapproving look on Peter.

Peter immediately goes back to toeing the remains of a Dr. Strange clone, who has now deformed into a pile of goop.

Seems like each clone only had enough magic for a couple portals in them.

It’s a shame, really. It would’ve been much easier to teleport to Thanos’s kids’ donut ship.

Swinging around New York with Iron Man is always awesome, though.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to text and swing?” Mr. Stark says, as Peter thumbs through his contacts. 

“Those pigeons crashed into me,” Peter points out. He tosses his phone into the air and catches it between his shoulder and ear mid-swing.

“Hey, May!” he says. “Don’t know if you’ll see it on the news before you get this, but the craziest thing happened before school today—“

Peter’s leaving Aunt May a voicemail, just in case this intergalactic field trip doesn’t end before three. He’s pretty sure their cell phone coverage doesn’t extend to space, so he needs to cover all his bases now. He doesn’t want to be grounded until he’s sixty.

“— And I know you said to talk to you before doing any crazy Spider-Man stuff, but this was really last minute, and— and I didn’t know how big this was gonna be, okay? Don’t get mad! And don’t worry. Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers will be with me, so— I’ll probably just be swinging around and webbing aliens up from a distance. Normal Spider-Man things. But in space. No biggie. Anyway, just wanted to let you know, in case I— Oh. We’re at the spaceship now, so I gotta go. Hey, maybe I can bring you back a moon rock or something! That’d be awesome. Love you, May. See you later.”

Peter lands on the street, hangs up, and shoves his phone back into his backpack. 

He takes a deep breath.

Mr. Stark touches down two feet away. “Last chance to get off the train to crazy town, kid,” he says. 

Mr. Stark’s mask whooshed away, and it’s still the coolest thing ever. But he looks really worried. Like, Peter-face-planted-into-the-wedding-cake-and-started-randomly-crying worried.

It’s not good.

But, it’s probably the appropriate expression to have when you’re about to blast off into space and kill a genocidal alien. Mr. Stark didn’t sign up for any of this shit.

Peter did.

He exhales, long and slow.

Then he straightens up, trying to project that Spider-Man strength.

“It’s okay,” he tells Mr. Stark. “I’d never let you go to crazy town without me. You have the worst taste in souvenirs.”

Mr. Stark shakes his head and huffs out something that would be a laugh in better circumstances.

Peter loudly insists that it’s the real and honest truth. He smoothly segues into a story Mrs. Potts told him about a Stark Industries business trip from a couple years ago as they head towards the spaceship.

While they walk, Mr. Stark claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder and gives him a small smile.

Peter doesn’t smile back. 

Right now, he’s very grateful for his mask. It means Mr. Stark can’t see that he’s scared.

——

Peter’s standing on abandoned street with three of his childhood heroes, staring up at a giant donut spaceship once piloted by alien invaders whom he recently helped murder. Now they’re gonna hijack this enemy ship so it’ll take them to their leader. 

There’s only one problem: The ship has no visible entrances.

“Here’s our ride,” Black Widow says. “Anyone got a license?”

“I have a New York learner’s permit,” Peter says.

“Uh,” Captain America says, glancing at Mr. Stark, who’s staring up at the donut ship unblinkingly.

Mr. Stark shakes his head.

“I’ve never regretted not investing in NASA more,” he says.

“Well, how did Thanos’s children pilot the thing?” Captain America asks.

“Maybe they just stood in the donut hole?” Peter offers. “And ran like hamsters?”

A long pause.

“You think this a space hamster wheel,” Mr. Stark says.

“I don’t hear you coming up with any better hypotheses,” Peter replies, offended.

“I was conceptualizing various ways the aliens could use biometric locks to summon an entrance upon approach, but go on— Tell me about how they would pilot this spaceship like a  _ hamster wheel _ .”

Captain America coughs politely before Peter can go into a full science tantrum.

“Maybe we should just get on the hamster wheel first?” he asks.

A valid point. Peter nods.

“Mm-hmm,” Mr. Stark says, distracted. “And what’s your approach strategy then, Cap?”

Captain America and Black Widow exchange glances, then look at Peter. 

The captain says, “You know...”

“Yup,” Black Widow finishes.

They turn to Mr. Stark in unison. 

Mr. Stark blinks.

Well. That was cryptic.

Peter peers up at Captain America. He smiles down at Peter in a captain-ly manner. 

That’s the stance of a man with a plan. Too bad Peter isn’t fluent in Avengers telepathy.

Peter tilts his head, trying to broadcast his confusion. When he catches Black Widow’s eye, she winks and jerks her chin towards Mr. Stark.

Aha. 

Peter gets it.

“What?” Mr. Stark says, looking between them warily.

Peter takes one step forward, then leaps into Mr. Stark’s arms. Mr. Stark catches him instinctively. 

Peter grins.

Mr. Stark’s gonna be such a great dad.

Hooking his legs around Mr. Stark’s faulds, Peter sticks his calves to the Iron Man armor, arches his back, and then shoots one web to Captain America and another to Black Widow, so he’s literally the glue holding the Avengers together. MacGyver wishes he could come up with this shit.

“All aboard the Iron Man express!” Peter says.

Black Widow snorts. Captain America smiles and shakes his head.

“What the fuck, kid.” Mr. Stark sounds like he’d be facepalming if his palms weren’t busy acting as Peter’s back support. “What the fuck.”

“Come on, Mr. Stark. Let’s board this hamster wheel!”

But, before Mr. Stark can literally carry the entire team on his back, a hatch on the donut ship slides open, and a blue light shines down onto the street.

A weird humming noise fills Peter’s ears.

“Uh,” Peter says, as the light begins vacuuming them into the air. “I think we’re being beamed up.”

Black Widow is suddenly holding a pistol.

“They didn’t all leave the ship,” Captain America says, grabbing his shield with the hand not attached to Peter’s web.

Mr. Stark pushes Peter’s head down and towards his chestplate, so two giant shoulder cannons can pop out of his armor and aim at the hatch above their heads. Peter can hear the whine of the repulsors next to his ears.

“Wait,” Peter says, “Wait, wait— I don’t think— Just, it might be—“

“Get in, losers,” Deadpool yells, poking his head out of the donut ship. “We’re going titan-killing!”

A pause.

“Called it,” Peter says.

Black Widow tucks her pistol away, looking as impassive as one can look while being sucked into a UFO. 

Captain America sighs.

Mr. Stark groans, then folds the shoulder cannons away.

“You need better friends,” he tells Peter.

——

“But, how do they access the other parts of the ship?” Captain America asks. “Do they have to climb the walls?”

“I don’t think gravity is an issue in space,” Black Widow replies.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Like in  _ Ender’s Game _ . Have you read  _ Ender’s Game _ yet, Captain?”

“Is that the one with—“

“Hey,” Mr. Stark says, “no book club talk from the peanut gallery while I’m trying to hotwire an alien spacecraft.”

Peter shrugs and goes back to splitting his last pack of gummy worms with Deadpool.

The inside of the donut ship looks exactly like how Peter imagined the inside of a murderous alien’s spaceship would look like. It’s dark, weirdly ominous, and there are creepy blue lights everywhere. It’s like being in a fish tank, which is a thought that Peter is resolutely pushing away right now. He doesn’t want to think about drowning while he’s flying to another place where no one can hear him scream. 

Well, he will be flying to a place where no one can hear him scream once Mr. Stark figures the donut ship out. 

Peter shoves the last two gummy worms into his mouth and goes to hover over Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He wants to help. Or at least be a sentient sounding board.

“Right, science minion,” Mr. Stark says into one of the big handle-cuffs in front of the ship’s alien windshield thing. “Just in time— I think I’ve figured out the start mechanism.”

Mr. Stark straightens up and turns to Peter. He frowns.

“Where’s your mask?”

“Um.” Peter glances back to where Deadpool is sitting criss-cross applesauce with Peter’s backpack in his lap and the Spider-Man mask pulled on over his own. He’s flirting obnoxiously with Karen. 

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes.

“Tell me,” he says. “How do you still have a secret identity again?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment.

“You know, I really have no idea.”

Mr. Stark exhales with an impressive amount of exasperation. Peter actively fights the urge to ask if he learned that in Tired Dad 101.

It’s tough.

“Okay— Another discussion for later.” Mr. Stark points into the handle-cuff. “See that thing? Well, I think it’s the equivalent of an alien throttle— I bet that Thanos’s kids aren’t big on tech— I mean, if Thanos has been around for millenia, then his kids were probably born in the negative thirtieth century, so they’ve gotta be incurable Luddites— Anyway, so I’m thinking easy start method. Alien walks in, sticks his hands in these babies, squeezes, turns, and then the ship fires up.” Mr. Stark walks over to the other handle-cuff. “So, we’re gonna test my hypothesis. Get your arms in there.”

Peter gets his arms in there, trying not to feel like he’s sticking his hands into a giant alien bear trap.

“Okay, now remember— We’re one big guy right now, so, on three, you squeeze and turn clockwise, got it?”

“Got it.” Peter grits his teeth.

“Alright. Ready? One, two, three!”

Peter squeezes the inside of the handle-cuff and turns.

The whole windshield lights up.

“Oh, wow, first try,” Mr. Stark says. “Everything’s turning up roses today.”

Peter sighs and tugs his hands out of the handle-cuff. Then he immediately trips into Black Widow, as the donut ship rumbles and begins to move.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Captain America says, staring at the rapidly shrinking landscape of New York City.

“I don’t think so,” Black Widow says. She pushes Peter back onto his feet.

Peter rushes over to Mr. Stark, who’s fluttering over the navigation GUI.

“It’s on autopilot or something,” he mutters. “But I can’t read this shit, so I don’t know how to alter our course— What kind of fucking alien language—“

“Move, bitch,” Deadpool says, hip checking Mr. Stark into Peter and bumping them both to the floor.

“You f—“ Mr. Stark quickly checks Peter for injuries before getting up, hoisting Peter to his feet, and shoving Deadpool away from the GUI. In that time, Deadpool’s already inputted a string of characters, pressed a dozen buttons, and caused the entire interface to flash red. Twice.

“I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain!” Deadpool says, reaching around Mr. Stark to jab at one last button.

The ship beeps ominously.

Everyone freezes.

And then all of them are abruptly flung against the back wall as the donut ship shoots away from Earth at warp speed.

“What the fuck did you do?” Mr. Stark yells at Deadpool over the whirr of engines in overdrive.

Peter curls up against the wall and clamps his arms over his ears. Smushed next to him, Captain America sinks to the floor. His eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s about to hurl, but he still takes the time to pat Peter on the knee. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Deadpool screeches. “Was I the only one who took that Intro to All-Speak class in college? Show some respect to the fucking humanities, STEM majors!”

Mr. Stark makes a face. The face says that he’d be choking Deadpool to death right now if he wasn’t so busy being ground into the wall of a spaceship.

“I studied finance,” Black Widow says dryly.

Peter uses his spider-enhanced stickiness to slowly scoot over to Deadpool and Mr. Stark.

Once close enough, he knocks on Deadpool’s shin and asks, “Where are we going?”

Deadpool manages to pat Peter on the head thrice before Mr. Stark squirms forward and smacks his hand away.

“Oh, nowhere—“ Deadpool answers cheerfully. “Just some intergalactic antique shop. My cuddy buddy told me I’d meet someone special there!”

——

Deadpool makes their entrance with a bang.

Well, there are multiple bangs. To be honest, it’s more of a crash. 

Actually, it’s definitely a crash.

“Wait! There are people down there—“ Captain America says, seconds before Deadpool rams the donut ship into a building.

For a few terrifying moments, Peter believes that he’s gonna die in an alien plane crash on an alien planet after surviving an invisible plane crashing onto a beach and narrowly avoiding a normal plane disappearing into the sea. That’d be the cherry on top of his whole, tragic, terrible life. But, apparently Thanos’s kids invested in good bumper absorbers when they purchased their spaceship, because when Peter cracks his eyes open, everyone looks okay.

Then again, maybe crashing into a building is a fender bender by alien standards. Peter doesn’t know. He just got here.

“What the fuck, Deadpool,” Peter coughs, tumbling down from the wall, to which he’d stuck Mr. Stark and Black Widow by stretching across both of them like a spider-enhanced human seatbelt. Mr. Stark immediately bends over and skims his hands over the back of Peter’s head.

“It was on fire before I drove the donut into it!” Deadpool protests.

Captain America digs an exit out of their spaceship-wreck using his shield. After Peter crawls out, he sits up and scans the wreckage, which does look more fiery than one spacecraft crash should be on its own. 

He wonders if all alien antique stores are into the hellfire aesthetic.

And then he spots the green hand sticking out from underneath the side of the donut.

“Oh shit, oh my God,” Peter scrambles backwards. “We dropped the donut on the Wicked Witch of the West. Mr. Stark, we— we killed Elphaba!”

Peter thinks he’s gonna throw up.

“Hey!” someone yells. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!”

A random guy in a maroon leather jacket is jogging in Peter’s direction, pointing a big fidget-spinner at his head like a gun. He doesn’t look like a scarecrow. 

“Step away from the kid,” Mr. Stark says, now aiming one of his mega arm cannons at Not-Scarecrow Guy. 

“Uh, why don’t you step away from my girl? Who the fuck are you guys anyw—“ Not-Scarecrow Guy finally catches sight of Elphaba’s arm. 

His eyes widen, and he immediately puts down his fidget-spinner so that he can dive forward and clutch her hand.

Captain America rushes over to Peter and pulls him behind Mr. Stark, where Peter can hyperventilate over causing another murder in peace.

The flames crackle.

“No, no, no, no,” Not-Scarecrow Guy says, voice wrecked. “Gamora...”

He clutches the hand tight, pressing the back of it to his lips.

There’s a moment of quiet.

Then Not-Scarecrow Guy stands up, points his fidget-spinner at Mr. Stark, and snarls, “You killed my girl, you motherfuckers!”

And that’s when Black Widow leaps from the shadow of the donut, wraps her thighs around Not-Scarecrow Guy’s neck, grabs his fidget-spinner, and wrestles him to the ground.

It’s nice to have a super spy on the team.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Not-Scarecrow Guy yells, clawing at Black Widow’s left thigh. She squeezes harder, and he wheezes.

“We don’t take kindly to people threatening children,” Captain America says, walking towards him.

“Not a child—“ Peter says.

“Not the time,” Captain America calls over. He kneels down next to where Not-Scarecrow Guy is being choked out by Black Widow, and he checks Elphaba’s pulse.

“She’s alive,” Captain America says.

“Thank fuck,” Peter exhales.

Not-Scarecrow Guy stops struggling. 

“And if I saw correctly,” Captain America says, standing up. “Before we crashed, you were just about to kill your girl.” He looks down at Not-Scarecrow Guy and crosses his arms. 

Peter wonders if he’s gonna witness a live Captain America PSA on domestic violence.

“Yeah,” Not-Scarecrow guy says defensively, “but that’s because my girlfriend’s dad—“

“THANOS!” someone yells.

“Right—” Not-Scarecrow guy says.

A really big dude barrels into Captain America, slamming him into the side of the donut wreck.

Peter quickly sidesteps Mr. Stark and webs the big dude’s hands before he can punch them into Captain America’s face.

Spider reflexes for the win.

Peter pulls, and the big dude roars. It’s like playing tug of war with an elephant.

“Thanos?” Captain America says. He ducks out of the big dude’s range. “Thanos is—“

“They’re not with Thanos,” a high voice says from behind Peter. He whips his head around and finds himself nose to nose with an alien.

“Holy shit!” Peter leaps away and slams into Mr. Stark’s back. He instinctively blurts out, “Please don’t lay your eggs in me!”

“Jesus—“ Mr. Stark turns and uses his non-cannon arm to gather Peter towards his side. “How many of you are gonna crawl out of the woodwork?” 

The alien blinks at them.

“I see now,” the big dude says, putting his fists down. “It was my mistake. You are far too handsome to be Thanos.”

“Thanks?” Captain America says. 

“Thanos was here?” he continues.

“Uh, yeah,” Not-Scarecrow Guy says. Black Widow rolls off of him, but he stays splayed out on the ground, wheezing. “We came here to get this Infinity Stone from the creepy old collector guy, and then Thanos came, so we tried to kill him, but it turns out Thanos got here first and already had the stone, and he whammied us, and then he tried to kidnap my girl, so she asked me to kill her, and then— don’t know if you noticed— you guys crashed a spaceship into them.”

Huh.

Peter blinks.

That’s...a lot.

But— “Does that mean we did it?” Peter says. Not-Scarecrow Guy waves the big dude and the alien over, and he tells them to help dig his girlfriend out of the wreckage. “We killed Thanos? Universe saved?”

Peter glances up at Mr. Stark, who shrugs.

“It was my idea,” Deadpool says, strolling up next to Peter. “I should get the credit. Told you all those years of murdering would come in handy.”

Mr. Stark twitches. “And where did you—“

Suddenly, prickling runs up and down Peter’s spine. 

“Guys—“ he says, right before the donut shipwreck explodes.

Peter flies backwards. He knocks his head on the ground.

Shit. He needs another backpack now. May’s gonna be so pissed.

After Peter figures out how to move his limbs again, he slowly sits up, ears ringing. 

He’d thought this place was hell-fiery before. That was nothing compared to how it looks now.

As Peter helps Mr. Stark up, a tall figure walks out of the wreckage, silhouetted by flames. The sight reminds Peter of Coney Island, and he quickly steps in front of Mr. Stark, crouching into a combat stance and trying not to hurl.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark says, pulling Peter behind him instead, “you’re definitely more of a Thanos.”

And he really is. 

Thanos looks like what would happen if the Hulk bit the boogeyman and raised him on steroids. And gave him a metal tank top. And then crashed a spaceship into him. 

He is more purple than Peter had expected, though.

“Well,” Thanos says. “This is not how I thought today would go.”

“You’re trying to wipe out half the universe,” Mr. Stark points out. A million guns pop out of his armor, and he points both palm repulsors at Thanos’s chest. “This is how every one of your days should go.”

“Wipe out half the universe?” Thanos says, turning slightly so that he’s half-shielding Elphaba, who he has cradled in his right arm. “Who told you that?”

“A trustworthy source,” Mr. Stark says shortly. “Someone who survived one of your genocidal massacres.”

Thanos smiles. Peter shivers.

“You misunderstand,” Thanos chuckles. “Those weren’t genocides. They were gifts.”

He steps forward.

That’s when Deadpool springs out from behind Peter, hauling a chunk of the donut ship. He swings it at Thanos’s throat.

Mr. Stark shoots.

Thanos drops Elphaba, grabs Deadpool’s improvised buster sword with his right hand, and twists, blocking Mr. Stark’s blasts and slamming Deadpool to the ground with his left hand in one smooth motion. He presses down on Deadpool’s throat, and Peter sees the jewels winking on the back of his metal glove.

“Hello, cuckold,” Deadpool says.

“Clown,” Thanos replies. “You’re early.”

Light flashes around his gauntlet.

Deadpool’s head explodes.

Peter loses track of the next thirty seconds. He thinks he screams. He knows that he sprints over to where Thanos has tossed Deadpool’s body like he’s nothing but garbage. He thinks Mr. Stark tries to call him back, but it’s too late, and Peter’s turning Deadpool’s body over, and he knows Deadpool heals, he knows, he knows, but—

There’s yelling and crashing behind Peter. He can hear Mr. Stark firing energy bursts, but he’s still staring at the bloody stump of Deadpool’s neck, waiting for it to start growing back, waiting and waiting and waiting—

There’s another slamming noise, and Peter hears Captain America grunt.

“So impatient,” Thanos says. “Don’t you want to know who you’re dying for?”

“Gamora,” someone else whispers. “Wake up, wake up—“

“We don’t negotiate with genocidal maniacs,” Black Widow says.

“I am simply a maniac in love.”

“Move!”

The ground shudders.

Peter ducks under a deflected repulsor blast, pressing himself against Deadpool’s still-headless body.

“You’re not healing,” Peter says. He grips Deadpool’s shoulders. He’s still warm. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Kid! Left!”

Peter webs Deadpool’s chest and spins to the left, narrowly avoiding a blast of red energy that came from Thanos’s fists.

“Oh, God,” Peter breathes. He gently leans Deadpool against a slab of donut ship wreckage, and then he turns to face his murderer.

Captain America and Mr. Stark are grappling with Thanos.

“I’d hate to see the monster who’d willingly cuddle with your ugly mug,” Mr. Stark says, firing a repulsor point-blank at Thanos’s chest. 

Thanos howls and slaps him aside like he’s an insect. Peter springs forward and catches Mr. Stark before he can land on a particularly jagged piece of flaming debris.

“Have care how you speak,” Thanos says, throwing Captain America to the ground. Something snaps. “I will not allow insults to my lover.”

Peter quickly sticks out his wrists, webbing Thanos’s hands, pulling him back, and giving Captain America time to move. Black Widow fires two bullets, but they curve away unnaturally and fly towards Not-Scarecrow Guy and his posse, who’re kneeling around Elphaba.

“Watch out!” Peter yells.

Mr. Stark swoops around, lands in front of them, and forms a shield out of his armor.

So, now it’s just Peter versus the giant purple alien who wants to kill them all.

Great.

“Ah,” Thanos sighs, “The things we do for love.” He pulls his arms together, and Peter slips three feet forward. It feels like he’s bicep curling a moon.

“So,” Peter pants, trying for a distraction, “you aren’t trying to kill half the universe to fix overpopulation then?”

Thanos stops tugging at the webs. He turns to look at Peter. 

He laughs.

“Now, who told you that?” Thanos says. “I thought I could not be more clear about whom I’m doing this for. But, reality is often disappointing.”

Thanos clenches his hand around the webs, burning them to ash, then uses the remaining strands to whip Peter around and slam him into Mr. Stark, sending them both tumbling into the fire.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain myself now,” Thanos says. He pauses to kick Captain America into Black Widow. “I’m late for a meeting.”

Thanos turns to Not-Scarecrow Guy’s huddle.

He freezes.

Then he storms forward, shoves the others aside.

And screams.

It’s a terrible, terrifying sound. 

Peter can’t move. He feels like his head is about to explode. He presses his palms to his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. Metal gauntlets cup his upper arms and scoop him out of the flames.

When the sound peters off and Peter can open his eyes again, he finds himself crouching next to Mr. Stark at the edge of a blast zone. Thanos is kneeling in the middle, cradling Elphaba in his arms.

“—daughter, my daughter—“

“It’s done,” Not-Scarecrow Guy croaks out. He climbs to his feet. He’s crying. “It’s over, Thanos. Give up, go home. You’re not getting the stones.”

Thanos stiffens.

He stands up and turns around, face smooth and expressionless.

He visibly surveys the array of Avengers and aliens, eyes passing over Captain America, clutching at his ribs; Black Widow, who’s still aiming two pistols at his face; Mr. Stark and Peter, tense and combat ready; Not-Scarecrow Guy and his friends, grief-stricken but standing tall.

Thanos smiles crookedly.

“No,” he says.

“I am inevitable.”

Thanos lifts his left hand. He clenches his fist.

Peter’s heart jumps.

He flings himself in front of Mr. Stark, throwing his arms around his shoulders and covering as much of his body as he can.

The wave of red light hits them.

——

Peter wakes up, feeling like a warehouse has just landed on his back.

Groaning, he stands up, dusts his knees off, and looks around.

There’s nothing. Just a bland, blue-white sky and sandy orange earth as far as the eye can see.

“Hello?” Peter says.

Nothing.

“Mr. Stark?” he tries.

Silence.

It’s so quiet that Peter almost hears buzzing in his ears. He shivers, wrapping his arms around himself.

Peter takes a deep breath. 

He holds for five seconds, then exhales, breath shuddering. 

It smells alien.

Peter looks around one more time. He chooses a random direction.

He walks.

After an eternity, Peter knocks his toes on something with a solid thud. He windmills his arms, hissing.

Then he looks down.

Mr. Stark is staring up at him, mask off, face bloody, mouth slack, eyes blank and wide open and—

Dead.


	3. to see tomorrow

“Mr. Stark?”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter falls to his knees, leaning over Mr. Stark’s chest. He taps the housing unit, but nothing happens.

The light has gone out. It’s lifeless. 

“Mr. Stark? Wha— What’s happening? Please, sir, wake up!” Peter shakes his shoulders, gently first, then with more and more hysteria. 

Mr. Stark‘s head flops around limply. He’s cold under Peter’s hands. 

Peter tries to take a deep breath. He chokes on it. 

This can’t be happening.

“No, don’t, please— Mr. Stark?”

“Please, please, please, don’t be dead— don’t be dead—“

“Oh, God—“

“You have to wake up, please— You’re gonna be a dad! You haven’t even met your kid yet—Wake up! Wake up—“

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This can’t be real—“

Peter doesn’t know how long he kneels there, tapping on Mr. Stark’s housing unit, talking nonstop. He rips at the arm of his suit, trying to see if he can rig the wires into a defibrillator. He checks Mr. Stark’s head for bleeding, but he can’t see any wounds, and he can’t get the suit to retract, so he doesn’t know what to do, how to fix this—

Peter’s never made any plans where Mr. Stark dies on an alien landscape, where he never gets to see his baby, where he lies bloody, broken, and a billion miles from home. Peter’s never planned for it, never, because he knows better than to tempt fate.

Turns out fate doesn’t need temptation, though. 

It would sell Peter to Satan for one corn chip.

“What in the— Kid, Peter—“ The sound of repulsors powering down. “—Hey, no—“ Footsteps. “—What did you do to your arm?”

Peter’s head jerks up.

He spins around. 

“Mr. Stark!”

“Ow, ow, ow— gentle, be gentle! I just got hulk-smashed by a giant purple alien— My ribs are not in tip-top shape right now.”

“You’re alive,” Peter says, trying to loosen his grip. He can’t. But, it’s probably okay. Mr. Stark is hugging him back just as hard.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark says, squeezing even tighter. “Yeah, of course I’m alive. You protected me. And about that—“ Mr. Stark suddenly grabs Peter by the shoulders, pushing him back so that he can look him in the eyes.

“—You do that again, and I’m replacing all your baking appliances with Easy-Bake Ovens,” Mr. Stark says. “I’m serious. I am the adult. I’m the one wearing highly advanced nanobot armor. I cover you, got it?” He thumbs the tears off Peter’s cheek.

Peter sniffs. He smiles wetly.

“...You know I can’t promise that.”

Mr. Stark’s grip on Peter’s shoulders tightens.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I won’t stop asking.”

Unable to stop himself, Peter says, “You’re really alive?”

“Yup, really really,” Mr. Stark says, stepping around Peter to get a good look at the Iron Man corpse. “I mean, Pete, look at this thing. Look at the hair. Do I have that much grey in my hair? The aliens should work on their cloning technology.”

“Well…” Peter says, glancing at Mr. Stark’s temples.

“Uh-uh,” Mr. Stark says, wagging his index finger. “You’ll make my colorist cry, you know.”

Mr. Stark unceremoniously kicks the corpse over, so they no longer have to stare at its vacant face.

“That thing’s giving me the heebie-jeebies,” Mr. Stark mutters.

Peter takes a deep breath. He wipes the remaining tears off his face.

“So,” Mr. Stark says, “Judging by the Halloween decorations, I’d guess that Thanos hasn’t thrown us into an alien desert using his magical hand bracelet.”

“Maybe we’re in my brain,” Peter says. He clears his throat, trying to chase the hoarseness from his voice. “Like how Harry was at the train station in his brain in the last movie.”

Though, if this is the inside of Peter’s brain, he’s gonna be very disappointed in himself. He’d kinda been hoping for something cooler than a scene from one of his worst nightmares.

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes.

“I won’t even pretend to consider that idea. I have to say it— I’m sick of all this magic stuff. I miss the sci-fi references, Pete. I never should’ve introduced you to the wizards.”

“We could really use a wizard right now,” Peter says. He looks around. “Do you think Dr. Strange might come and portal us out of here?”

“Well,” Mr. Stark says. “Considering that I asked Bruce to knock him out and steal his necklace if they didn’t manage to get the Mind Stone out of Vision, there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll pop up just to shove my head through one of his sparkly death traps.”

“Oh my God,” Peter says. “Am I gonna have to hold another friend therapy session for you?”

“You can put it in my schedule when we get home.”

When we get home. 

Peter smiles.

Of course, that’s when the Iron Man corpse flips over and grabs Mr. Stark’s ankle.

“What the—“

Mr. Stark’s mask reforms around his face, and he immediately shoots the corpse with a hand repulsor, knocking it off his sabaton. Then he scoops Peter up and launches into the air.

“Have you been watching  _ The Walking Dead _ ?” he asks, as he zooms them away from the zombie.

“You just said we weren’t in my brain!”

And then Peter sees a dark object flying at them.

“Duck, duck, duck—“ he chants.

“Uh, goose?” Mr. Stark says.

The thing knocks Mr. Stark out of the air with a metallic clang. They tumble onto the ground, Mr. Stark twisting so that he absorbs most of the impact. 

Peter quickly rolls to his feet, turning to face the direction where the flying thing came from. 

He gags.

Captain America catches his shield in his left hand, since his right is currently missing. Actually, his whole arm is missing. And some of his guts, too. 

Peter doesn’t know why he couldn’t smell him until now. He smells. A lot. Peter really wants to go back to a time when he couldn’t smell him.

“Please let it be a zombie Captain America clone and not the real captain—Please, please—“ Peter says to himself, as he charges towards the captain, webs his remaining arm to his side, kicks him in the shins, and snatches his shield away.

“Peter, left!”

Peter swings the shield to the left and curls up behind it. The sound of bullets pinging off metal echoes in his ears.

Mr. Stark blasts Captain Zombie back and hauls Peter up. “How about you tango with the Natasha replicant, and I’ll handle Uncle Sam’s cadaver?”

“You sure they’re not real?” Peter says.

“Pretty sure Thanos is just trying to screw with our heads,” Mr. Stark says. Quieter, he adds, “I’ve seen realer things in my nightmares.”

Real or not, it still hurts to fight them.

“I— I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Peter says, after watching the Black Widow zombie crack her shoulder into place for the sixth time. There’s bone poking out of both her arms now. It’s as white as the strands of web trailing off her wrists. 

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark says. “I could take a breather.” He shoots Captain Zombie one last time before zooming towards Peter and carrying him away from the fight. 

“Let’s get some distance between us and them,” Mr. Stark says. “Zombies can’t sprint, right?”

“Not in my brain,” Peter says. He tucks his head against Mr. Stark’s chestplate. Windburn is awful without his mask.

Mr. Stark slows down a little, covering Peter’s left ear with one gauntlet.

Peter remains alert. He doesn’t know why he didn’t sense the zombie attacks before, but it won’t happen again. 

That’s why he reacts instantaneously when the back of his neck prickles.

“Down!” he says, tapping the Iron Man armor. “Down, down, go down now!”

“Pete?” Mr. Stark says. But he descends immediately, carefully dropping Peter on his feet.

Peter whips his head around, scanning the area.

There’s nothing there.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Stark says. “I don’t see any rest stops here if you need to go. Or are you just training me for the new baby?”

“No— and I went before we got exploded into the zombie desert,” Peter answers instinctively. He frowns. “Sorry. Just— I thought...”

Prickle.

Peter tackles Mr. Stark, shoving him to the ground.

“Whoa!” Mr. Stark says.

“Sorry!” Peter says, looking around. Still nothing. “Sorry, sorry—Just. You were in danger.”

“Danger?” Mr. Stark says. His mask is still on, but Peter can practically hear him raising an eyebrow. “From  _ The Happening _ ?”

“No—“ Peter snaps. “I sensed something, okay?”

A pause.

Mr. Stark is definitely raising an eyebrow now.

“I can, uh, sense bad things.” Peter explains. He stands up, pulling Mr. Stark with him. “I have a sixth sense.”

“Sixth sense?” Mr. Stark says, sounding sardonically impressed. “That spider give you ESPN or something, too?”

“Look,” Peter says. “Could you just trust me for one second? We just got attacked by zombie versions of our friends! You saw your own dead corpse! Is it really impossible that there’s an invisible enemy here trying to take us out?”

Peter realizes that he’s pointing angrily at Mr. Stark’s chestplate again. It’s not a good look. He puts his hand down. 

“Trust me,” Peter says. “Please.”

Iron Man looks at him.

“I do trust you, Pete,” he says. 

Prickle.

Peter tenses, slowly turning his head. He squints out of the corner of his eye. If he focuses, he can almost see the air ripple. 

Which means he now has a plan.

He looks back at Mr. Stark.

“I trust you,” Mr. Stark repeats, reaching out with one hand.

“Then hit me,” Peter whispers.

Mr. Stark stops moving.

“Wha—“

Peter grabs Mr. Stark’s wrist and hurls him over his shoulder.

Mr. Stark tumbles and lands in a crouch, skidding backwards. “Kid?!” he says.

But Peter has already launched himself towards him.

“Pretend,” Peter hisses, pulling his punch before it can touch Mr. Stark’s left cuisse. 

“To lure him close,” he adds, while flipping over Mr. Stark’s shoulders.

“I think Thanos is here, and he’s trying to kill us, and I need you to throw me  _ right now _ —“ Peter says while putting Mr. Stark in a chokehold.

Mr. Stark throws him to the ground.

“Where?” he whispers next to Peter’s ear. He has his gauntlet around Peter’s throat, but he’s not applying any pressure at all. 

Peter’s eyes are wide open.

“Behind,” he says quietly. “On my mark.”

“Hold my wrist,” Mr. Stark says. His grip tightens.

Peter grabs onto his vambrace with both hands.

“Don’t choke,” Mr. Stark says. He stands, dragging Peter with him.

Peter gasps, before remembering to hold himself up on the Iron Man armor.

It still hurts.

“Why’re you doing this, kid?” Mr. Stark asks loudly.

The air above his shoulder shimmers.

“You’re not real,” Peter says. “You’re not real, you’re not real—“

“Maybe you’re the one who’s not real,” Mr. Stark says. His voice is shaking a little. A red blade unsheathes from the arm Peter isn’t hanging off of.

It’s getting closer.

“No, no—“

“Give me a sign, Peter,” Mr. Stark says. He slowly raises his blade. “Give me a sign— Please, I’m begging you, just give me a—“

“Now!”

Peter drops to the ground.

Mr. Stark spins around and thrusts his arm blade into the air in front of his face.

There’s a wet, tearing sound.

And then the sky rips apart.

——

They’re back in the fiery wreckage of the donut crash, which has now been exploded twice and so has a nice, clean clearing in the middle.

Mr. Stark retracts his arm blade and quickly turns back to Peter, pulling him out of the dirt and tucking him behind him.

Peter coughs and rubs his throat.

Thanos is stumbling backwards, hand pressed to the gushing wound in his chest. His face is blank, mouth slack. He lifts his hand, staring at it as if he’s never seen his own blood before. Then he collapses against a piece of the donut ship. Dark purple handprints stain the ground.

Peter can hear Captain America breathing hard behind him, Black Widow reloading her gun. Seems like those things in the desert were just fake zombie clones. 

Peter’s glad. He wonders if anyone fought his zombie on the orange world.

“Well,” Mr. Stark says, walking over to Thanos and raising his arm blaster. “So much for inevitable.”

He looms over Thanos, Iron Man triumphant once again.

“Any last words before I blast your genocidal ass into oblivion?” Mr. Stark cocks his head. 

Thanos doesn’t say anything. 

“No?” Mr. Stark says. “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t gonna remember them anyway.”

Thanos inhales wetly, blinking into the glow of the repulsor. And then the corners of his lips turn up. 

Peter tenses.

Thanos curls his left hand into a fist. 

“Mr. Stark!“ Peter calls, lunging forward “Watch—“

The three gems flash. 

Peter’s not close enough.

A ripple of hot wind slams dust and debris into Peter’s face, and he squeezes his eyes shut reflexively, arms curling around his head. 

He holds his breath, heart racing. But, there’s no explosion, no sizzle of energy. No one gags or grunts or screams. There’s no dull thud of the Iron Man armor hitting the ground.

Peter cracks his eyes open. He’s still in the flaming wreckage of the alien planet.

It doesn’t look like anyone is dying horribly.

False alarm?

Mr. Stark is yelling. “What was that?” he says, jabbing his blaster into Thanos’s throat. “What did you do?”

Thanos smiles gruesomely, purple blood bubbling through his teeth as he breathes.

“A parting gift,” he gasps out, “from one father to another.” 

Mr. Stark shoves his blaster into Thanos’s windpipe with unrestrained violence.

Thanos groans, but he’s still grinning, staring up at Mr. Stark’s mask. And then his head droops, left arm twitching slightly. 

A strange wind blows.

Thanos disintegrates.

“What the— “ Mr. Stark bangs into the hunk of spaceship, slipping in the bloody dust where Thanos once lay. The dust that once was Thanos.

Peter stares.

Everything is quiet.

Finally— “Did we win?” Not-Scarecrow Guy says. His eyes and nose are red and wet.

Mr. Stark folds his blaster away, slumping into the dirt.

“Looks like it,” Captain America says.

“Seems a bit anticlimactic,” Black Widow comments. She walks over to the captain and pats him on the shoulder.

“I still think I deserve at least eighty-seven percent of the credit,” Deadpool says, hopping out into the clearing. He’s found a scrap of Peter’s backpack and has it tied around his head, so it covers the entire front of his face like a tiny shower curtain.

“You’re alive!” Peter says.

“You’re alive,” Mr. Stark says much less enthusiastically.

Deadpool does jazz hands in their direction.

“You are a fool who lost his head after one second of battle,” the big dude points out. “You deserve zero percent of the credit.”

“Yeah!” his alien friend chimes in.

“Well, fuck you, too!” Deadpool says, sulking visibly. He gets in the big dude’s face and starts arguing with him expressively. Or maybe he’s flirting. Peter can’t tell. The hand gestures are really ambiguous.

But, it’s okay.

Peter takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. 

To be honest, it does feel a bit anticlimactic. But, Peter gives absolutely no shits about proper superhero story gravitas right now. He can jazz it up when he tells Ned about it later. Right now, all he wants to do is ditch this flaming alien hellscape, go home, hug May, and sleep for a solid six hours. Then he’s gonna convince Mrs. Potts and Mr. Stark to let him throw their baby shower. He can already picture the invitations he’s going to commission MJ for. Babies in Iron Man masks and onesies will feature heavily. They’ll be so cute.

Peter smiles. Despite the addition of alien blood on his hands, he can’t help but feel relieved. The guilt and moral quandaries can come later. Right now, Peter wants to be happy.

Plan over. Universe saved.

He’s ready to go home.

“Never ask me to hit you ever again,” Mr. Stark says. “Not even for pretend. Not even for training.”

“What about for dodgeball?” Peter asks, walking over to him.

“Well, that’s different,” Mr. Stark says. 

His mask fades away, so Peter can see him smile.

Peter’s bending down to help Mr. Stark out of the dirt when a sudden pain squeezes his chest like a vise. He hesitates, but when the hurt quickly fades, he shrugs internally and grabs Mr. Stark’s hand. After pulling Mr. Stark up, Peter taps his sternum a couple times with his fist, wondering if he hoovered up too many gummy worms too fast before the battle. He’s a little young for heartburn, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s picked up since taking on the superhero lifestyle.

Then he feels prickling up and down his spine.

Peter freezes. 

And then the pain comes back. Sharper, stronger, worse. 

This time, it doesn’t go away.

It’s heartburn and cramps and acid reflux, except times ten and just— everywhere. Peter’s insides are burning, but his skin feels clammy and cold. The air around him is suddenly freezing. He can’t move.

Mr. Stark hasn’t noticed. He’s walking towards Captain America, who’s touching base with Not-Scarecrow Guy and friends.

Peter takes a deep breath, trying to exhale the pain away, but nothing gets better. In fact, he can’t seem to catch his breath at all. Maybe he’s having some sort of allergic reaction to this alien planet. Are radioactive spiders allergic to aliens?

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaks out. He’ll need some help if he wants to survive alien-planet-induced anaphylactic shock.

Mr. Stark turns around and looks at Peter. His smile fades. His face goes grey.

“I don’t feel so good,” Peter whispers. 

That’s when he notices the dust flaking off his arms.

“You’re okay,” Mr. Stark says, rushing towards Peter.

“I don’t—“ Peter trips forward. It’s like his bones are turning into mush. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

He blinks and then— he doesn’t have feet.

Peter gasps, falling into Mr. Stark’s chest. His whole body is on fire. His ankles are grinding into the alien dirt, except they aren’t, because he doesn’t have ankles anymore. He’s literally falling apart. He’s turning into dust. 

He’s dying.

“I don’t wanna go,” Peter chokes out, surprised at his own desperation to live. He grabs onto Mr. Stark, trying to anchor himself. “Please, sir, I don’t wanna go.”

Peter starts breathing hard, trying to bring air into his disintegrating lungs, clutching at Mr. Stark’s shoulders and hoping he can will his cells to stop coming apart, hoping that if he just concentrates, then he can keep himself together, like this is just another freak out that he can ride out on someone’s carpet.

Peter tries to breath. He tries to count. 

He hears Mr. Stark say “You’re okay” again, and Peter so, so wants to believe him. But, not even Mr. Stark can reassemble people from dust. That puzzle has one billion pieces, and a third of Peter’s have already been scattered into the wind of this alien planet.

Dust in the wind. Is this an appropriate time to make a really old song reference?

Nah.

Mr. Stark probably wouldn’t appreciate it, considering that Peter is currently decaying in his arms.

Peter loses focus for one second, and then he’s down to his knees. He can’t even really feel Mr. Stark’s arms around him anymore. Everything is just burning and cold and pain.

Mr. Stark is yelling, calling for Captain America and Black Widow, but Peter tugs at his pauldrons, redirecting his focus. He wants Mr. Stark’s full attention right now. 

Peter doesn’t want to go. But, if he has to, then he’d rather do it in the arms of someone he loves, while they’re looking at him.

It’s cruel. Peter knows it’s cruel to the person left behind. But, sue him. He’s selfish. He’s been selfish his whole life— He’ll be selfish with his death, too.

Peter’s been planning it for years. He has an updated will on his computer and a printed copy tucked into the folder that also holds his birth certificate. His Legos will go to Ned, his novels to MJ, his notebooks and Spider-Man stuff to Mr. Stark, everything else to May. These things are small tokens of his love, given to the people he thinks will need them most. The people he hopes won’t forget him. But, they’re really just things. Peter thinks that everyone will remember he loves them anyway. After all, over the last year, he’s made a habit out of making sure everyone he loves knows that he loves them. This is a precaution he’d taken up consciously, aware that teenagers often pose the biggest danger to themselves, spider-powered vigilante teenagers most of all. And at the end of his life, he didn’t want to think about regret. He likes being sure that no one will have to wonder how he felt. He hadn’t expected to love so many more people, though. That was a wrench thrown into his plans. A good wrench, a lovely wrench, but a bittersweet one now. Bittersweet, too, is the knowledge that he is loved back. At some point, one small part of him had become scared of being loved. He was cursed, after all. Peter had spent years in death’s shadow, waiting for it to come catch him, too.

Unknowingly, he‘d been waiting for this day.

Peter falls.

Mr. Stark drops with him, cradling his head in one hand, so Peter doesn’t knock his dusting skull on the ground. Peter’s grateful, though he doesn’t think it’d matter. He’s in so much pain right now. A little more wouldn’t make a difference.

Mr. Stark’s mouth is moving, but Peter can’t hear anything. Maybe his eardrums have already drifted away. 

He wishes he’d learned to read lips. He really wants to know what Mr. Stark’s last words to him are.

Peter doesn’t know that he can feel his guts until he can’t feel them anymore. The thought almost makes him laugh, but he holds it in. He only has one more breath left in him. He can’t waste it.

Peter stares up at Mr. Stark’s face, covered in blood and dust and confusion and a slowly dawning devastation. 

What should I say? Peter wonders. What is there left to say? 

Don’t cry.

Peter lifts his left hand towards Mr. Stark’s face, but his fingers disintegrate before they reach the corner of his eye.

What is there left to say?

I love you.

Peter’s lips tremble. But, he’s sure Mr. Stark knows. After all those plans and pasta dinners, science-y Sundays and movie nights, how could he not know? He has to know. If he didn’t know before, surely he knows now?

Peter searches Mr. Stark’s face. 

You know, right? You know?

What is there left to say?

It hurts so bad. Peter wonders if it would be easier to be burnt at the stake. But he holds on, slowly counting to five in his mind. He needs his lungs. 

Thinking back on his last year, Peter tries to remember if— after all those tabled discussions and half-finished conversations— if there was one last thing he’d wanted to say. One last thing, one last thing…

Oh.

He remembers now.

Gaze focused on Mr. Stark, Peter breathes out, “I’m sorry.” 

Sorry.

I’m really sorry.

I don’t want to go.

Peter sees Mr. Stark’s expression collapse.

Then he’s done.

Then he goes.

——

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


——

Re-materializing almost hurts more than dematerializing did.

Peter gasps, but he doesn’t have lungs to breath with. He retches, but nothing comes up, because he doesn’t have a stomach. All he can do is pant into the ground, armless, legless, like a worm.

Achingly slowly, his body fizzles back into existence, bones and tendon and muscle and blood knitting themselves back into Peter. 

It feels like he’s in the core of a star.

Once Peter can hear his own thoughts again, he slowly levers himself to his hands and knees. 

There’s a pair of dusty boots in front of him.

Peter looks up.

Thanos is here, sitting on a huge golden throne. He’s slumped over, and the stab wound on his chest is still bleeding. He looks tired. 

Peter immediately scrambles backwards, struggling to his feet. His newly reformed heart is stuttering.

“Am— Am I dead?” he says.

Thanos looks at him. 

“No,” he answers.

“But, you’re dead.”

“No.”

Peter pauses.

Then he whispers, “Oh, shit,” and runs for the narrow bridge that’s the only way away from this nightmare.

But, he doesn’t move.

Well, he is moving. Kinda. His arms and legs are pumping, he shoots a web forward, and he swings. But the bridge isn’t getting any closer. When Peter turns his head, he sees Thanos sitting the same distance away, looking at him like he’s a particularly amusing pillbug.

Peter stops running.

Instead, he faces Thanos and asks, “Why am I here?” His voice trembles, and he hates it.

Thanos takes a minute to think.

“I’m fond of children,” he finally says, in a tone that implies he has never been fond of anything in his life.

“I’m not a child,” Peter says. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

“This day extracts a heavy cost,” Thanos muses. “So many of my children sent to see my lover.”

“Then sue for shared custody. Don’t kidnap random teenagers.”

“Ah, but you aren’t random, are you? In fact—“ Thanos leans forward and catches Peter’s chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting his head upwards. “—you might just be an invaluable instrument of war.”

Peter rears back, slapping at his hand. Thanos tightens his grip punishingly, and Peter stills, resisting the urge to cry out. 

He can hear his jaw creaking.

“Good,” Thanos says. “So you can be taught.”

He lets go of Peter and leans back, groaning as the wound on his chest stretches.

“I expect you to learn a lot in the coming years,” Thanos says. “For I have tasks that you must complete before I can introduce you to my lover. Special deeds, acts of war. Perhaps one day—“ He taps thoughtfully on the arm of his throne. “—you may even call me Father.”

A long pause.

Peter blinks. 

Then he wheezes.

What is even happening right now?

After his bruised ribs start protesting, Peter lets out the laugh. It sounds more nervous breakdown-y than defiant, but it’ll have to do. 

He’s never missed his Spider-Man mask more.

“Wha— In what universe do I call you Father?” Peter spits, staring up at Thanos. “In— In what reality? I mean, what the fuck? You’re fucking insane, man. I will never fight for you.”

Thanos looks down at him impassively.

“I will never fight for you,” Peter says.

A moment of silence.

Then, Thanos clenches his gauntleted hand, and an Iron Man suit materializes from the shadows, grabs Peter by the side of his neck, and slams him into the floor, pressing him to the stone. 

Peter gasps as pain erupts from his forehead and ribs. There are sharp poleyns digging into his kidneys and metal boots cutting into the tendons behind his knees. He feels like he’s being crushed, suffocated. 

The fingers of the suit squeeze, and metal presses into his windpipe. Peter chokes. 

Thanos lounges on his throne, gazing down at this display at his feet.

“You forget,” he says. 

Peter looks up at him, eyes burning.

Thanos smiles.

“Reality can be whatever I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the drawing board: the end of a war and the aftermath
> 
> But now you'll really have to wait until my next break ahahahahahahahahahahahha sorry.
> 
> Survey: Would you rather have the next one with sporadic updates and a possibly sooner-published first chapter? Or daily updates the way I've been doing so far?
> 
> See you on the other side of the war, and as always, thanks for reading ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be updated every day until complete.


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